I awoke to the sensation of someone stroking my hair, long fingers gently combing, and the quiet murmur of a deep voice.

Blinking up through bleary eyes, I recognized Volkir's general outline—a wave of smooth blonde hair combed back, broad shoulders clothed in a blue silk shirt, a pale, aristocratic-looking face, and sharp, silvery-blue eyes.

I realized I was lying on the living-room couch with my head in his lap, and his sculpted lips drew back in a smile when he saw that I was awake.

"Sweet Matthew," he said, pale brows pinching with concern, "are you well? I come to have a simple conversation and find your door wide open, you lying unconscious and dressed only in your underthings, and no sign of your lover to be seen. Whatever happened, my friend?"

My vision now in focus, I tried to sit up, and he helped me with a hand at my back. I leaned forward, feeling a little dizzy, and rested my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

"I... I made a mistake. Again," I said, so upset with myself that my breath hitched. "Pete warned me, but I didn't listen. I just wanted to see what was in the box, and it wasn't a dybbuk—just like Pete said—it was something else, and then Pickles got mad and made me drop it, and—"

Volkir rested his hand on my back and I paused. Gently, he pulled me back, steadying me with an arm around my shoulders and inviting me to lean against his broad chest. I knew he was using his vampire powers to calm me down, but I was glad of it, and enjoyed the pleasant sensation I always felt when he was near.

Ari had once told me he always felt a little sick when Volkir got too close, like he was eating the world's most delicious chocolate but knew that it was poisoned, or like he was looking at a gorgeous painting and then realized it was painted in blood.

I didn't feel like that at all. To me, Volkir's presence felt like falling into clean, cool silk sheets at the end of an exhausting day and a hot bath. It was refreshing, relaxing, and reassuring. It was also, I had to admit, a little addicting. I hadn't seen Volkir in several months, and right now I felt like I was finally getting a cool drink of water after spending a day in the hot sun.

"Why don't you tell me from the beginning?" he said now, his voice low and soothing, and doing a lot to settle my frayed nerves. "I have nowhere else to be."

I sniffed and lifted the hem of my shirt to wipe my face, and then realized that I was still in my underwear.

"Maybe I ought to get dressed first," I said, suddenly extremely conscious of Volkir's hands on my skin and of his silvery gaze, and I remembered what Ari had told me about his father-in-law's penchant for seduction.

I'd never felt in danger from him in that way, but I doubted Ben would appreciate the visual if he happened to come home unexpectedly and found me practically in another man's arms after he'd barely been gone a day.

"If you wish," he said. "But at least assure me you are well enough, first."

"I think so," I answered. "I just got surprised and knocked unconscious by an evil spirit of some kind. Nothing serious."

"I see," Volkir intoned, and helped me to stand. "And this spirit is among the house's usual residents?"

"Oh no," I assured him. "It came in the mail earlier today."

Volkir stilled and then chuckled softly. "Among all the strange and wonderful things I have encountered in my long life, dear Matt, you may be the strangest and most wonderful of all."

I laughed and gave him a rueful smile. "You say the nicest things," I said, "but if that were true, then I'd really be in trouble."

He raised an elegant brow and followed me upstairs to my room, where I pulled on a pair of loose athletic pants, and then back down to the comfort of the sitting room. I got the feeling he was keeping a close eye on me, probably to make sure I didn't fall.

He resumed his seat, and I took a chair. I would have liked to sit close to him again and enjoy the comfort of his presence, but I couldn't quite figure out how to pull that off without it being weird.

"So tell me," he said, leaning back with his chin resting on his thumb and his hand alongside his face, "how and why does one receive an evil spirit in the post?"

I told him about it, and about my troubles with Pete, and Ben, and magick, and how I'd decided that if Ben wanted to, we'd leave all of that behind.

Volkir listened without interrupting and afterward sat for a moment in thought, his silvery eyes gleaming in the dimly lit room. The faux-gas lighting was supposed to look authentic and, as a result, it wasn't very bright.

"I'm not an expert in such things," he said at last. "But from your description of the vessel and of the spirit itself, I suspect that you are dealing with a djinn."

"A djinn?" I asked, leaning forward with interest. "Is that like a genie? Will it give me wishes? It didn't live in that jar, did it? No wonder it was mad at me. I'd be mad if someone destroyed my home. I think there's an old lamp around here somewhere, though. Maybe—"

Volkir raised a hand. "Genie legends can be traced to the djinn, yes, but if all your knowledge of them comes from such sources, you should erase it from your mind."

"Oh." I admit I was disappointed. I wanted wishes. "What are they, then?"

He shifted slightly, regarding me with a keen, almost appraising look. "They are an ancient race of beings, described in Islamic and Judeo-Christian lore, though likely predating these. They are distinct from humans, demons, and the angelic species—they are unique. Neither inherently good, nor evil, they are highly individual and have a reputation for mischief. Some are quite malevolent, some are helpful, but most tend to keep to themselves."

"So, what about this one?" I asked, chewing a nail. "You think it's one of the bad kind?"

Volkir lifted his chin slightly and looked down his long, straight nose at me. "What do you think, Matt?"

The question caught me off guard, and I realized it was one that Ben seldom asked.

"I...I don't know," I admitted. "Pete told me the spirit was bad, or 'dark,' at least, and it did look a bit on the dark side, and it did sort of attack me, but..." I stopped, thinking back to what I'd seen and felt.

"But?" Volkir prompted gently.

"But...I didn't sense it was bad, you know? More like...it was scared. Maybe I should try talking to it," I mused. "Do you think it would understand English? I only speak English and French, and my French isn't even very good. Ari knows a bunch of languages—I could ask him to come over. But then maybe spirits don't need to speak a language to understand, and—"

I looked up and saw that one of Volkir's brows was arched at a sharp angle, and a small smile touched his mouth. His mild amusement wasn't meant to crush me, but it did anyway—the final grain of sand that tipped the scale and sent my walls crumbling into dust.

I shut up and slumped in my chair,  defeated and hurt. This wasn't my world, I told myself again, and the sooner I left it behind, the better off everyone would be.

"I know, I know. I'm being an idiot again," I sighed. "Stupid Matt, who can't even bake a magic cupcake without causing a disaster. I'm sorry."

Volkir remained still a moment, but then he rose from his seat and crossed the small space to stand before me, reaching for my hands and drawing me to my feet. He surprised me by pulling me into a soft embrace, and I felt the power flowing off him in warm, silky waves. I couldn't help melting into it, and I relaxed into the comfort he offered me. His body felt strong and strangely cool through his clothes, and he smelled like cedars and sea air.

After a moment he let me go.

"What was that for?" I asked shakily as he stepped back.

"You looked like you needed it," he said, and cupped my face in his hands. "Matt, I do not know what you have been told, nor by whom, but you are wrong. You are not an idiot, nor are you stupid. You are clever, curious, and kind. Trust yourself. If you think this spirit—this djinn, perhaps—is fearful rather than fearsome, then I believe you. All I was thinking as you spoke is that you never cease to surprise me, and that I am glad I can count you as a friend."

"Oh."

I sounded a lot closer to tears than I wanted to, but it had been a rough day, and Volkir was saying all the things I wanted to hear. He just wasn't who I wanted to hear them from.

"Thanks. That means a lot to me," I said.

He smiled and lowered his hands. "Have you eaten? You look rather pale and thin. Perhaps you would allow me to prepare a meal."

"No," I said, surprised. "I mean, no I haven't eaten. I was...I was waiting for Ben, and then, well..."

"Rest, then. I will make something. If you will permit me to plunder your pantry, that is."

"Sure—I mean, I'd like that," I said, and for some reason blushed scarlet—or imagined I did, since I couldn't actually see my own face.

He smiled again, a little sharper this time, and I was extremely aware of the pulse in my throat as I caught a glimpse of fang.

Remembering what I'd said to Ari, and what he'd said to me, I decided I'd better get ahold of myself before I dug this hole any deeper.

"I'll just sweep up the mess downstairs first," I said. "Then I'll come help, if you'll let me."

"Of course," he nodded. "And then we shall talk while we—or rather, you—eat."

That's right—he hadn't even told me why he'd wanted to come over yet.

I grabbed the broom and dustpan and descended to the ground floor once more. Volkir had shut and locked the door, at least (it had still been wide open when I'd passed out), and the broken jar was exactly as I'd left it. I swept it up and carried the laden pan out to the trash. I didn't know what the ashy dust was, but I knew I didn't want it in the house.

As I turned to go back in, I caught sight of something in the window that took me by surprise.

Not a ghost, this time.

A cat.

A little, sleek black cat.

Was I seeing things? I returned to the door and gingerly stepped inside. Sure enough, the cat was still there, sitting in the windowsill and looking at me with round yellow eyes in a shiny black face. It must have wandered in while I was unconscious. It looked well-cared for, but it wasn't an animal I'd seen around before. A stray, maybe?

"Hey there, beautiful," I said, talking in the high-pitched voice that cats seemed to respond to but that Ben hated—another reason he'd never let me have one. "Where did you come from?"

I reached out a hand to pet it, and the cat arched its back beneath my touch in a leisurely stretch and yawned, showing sharp white teeth and a pink tongue covered in little barbs.

"Oh-my-gooodness-you-are-so-CUTE!" I exclaimed, overcome, and picked the creature up.

Ben had often advised me not to pick up strange animals, or to pet dogs that I didn't know, but it had never done me any harm before.

This time was no exception.

The little beast purred, and the only thing it sunk its claws into was my heart.

"Oh, I wish I could keep you! You could live here and look after the house and all the ghosts an' things, and Ben would come around eventually, and I'd feed you treats and keep the litter box clean and everything."

I squeezed it gently and rubbed its soft little head. A clatter of pans from above reminded me I wasn't alone, and I carried the cat with me as I climbed the stairs.

"Volkir, look what was downstairs! Isn't it adorable?"

The vampire turned and regarded me, wooden spoon in hand, and tilted his head to the side as he studied the cat.

"Ah. You found it, I see."

"What do you mean 'found it?'" I asked. "Did you bring it over? Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Is it your cat? Does it have magical powers, like Ari's pets? Is it a—"

The cat seemed suddenly to have had enough of being carried at this point, and leaped from my arms, skittering down the hall and vanishing into one of the back rooms (not Ben's office, I hoped).

"Oh dear." Now I'd have to catch it again. "What does it like?" I asked Volkir. "Milk? Cream? Tuna juice?"

"It is not my cat, Matthew," Volkir said with a patience that made me give him my attention. "It is not a cat at all. Djinn are excellent shapeshifters. You found the djinn, not a cat."

"Oh."

I turned and stared down at the dark end of the hall, and Volkir came to stand at my side. "It seems you may have been correct, however," he said. "It did not strike me as particularly evil."

"Well, it did purr at me," I remarked. "That's a good sign, right?"